


To the Breathless

by wednesday



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Clothed Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-15 06:27:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13607514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: The night after attempting to interrogate Varvara with the help of vodka goes differently than Thomas expected.





	To the Breathless

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rodo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodo/gifts).



“Oh, well, _you_ look like you need some _help_ ,” said Varvara with a frankly surprising amount of innuendo in her voice. Thomas had just spent a good while of his evening listening to her scour the depths of the well of inappropriate jokes, and even so was for a moment stunned by level of lewd suggestion.

It was, of course, true that he could have done with some help, though definitely not the kind Varvara seemed to be offering.

Thomas was currently trying to get to his room – trying, but not succeeding, because he’d for some reason he didn’t want to think about consumed an unwise amount of vodka. He’d ask Peter – though he’d like to avoid any situation where Peter would be sober and he drunk – but Peter had drank enough to fall asleep standing. Thus went his other reasonable option at help, as Molly was already helping an insensate Peter to his room.

That left Varvara, who was already sliding her hand across his waist under his jacket and half holding him up, half leaning against him.

“No, really, I’m sure I can--”

“Come on, let’s go. Don’t you have to make sure I get to my room safely, don’t blow anything up and so?” she asked, not even pretending to be serious, and tugged him forward until they were both stumbling up the stairs, her breath hot against the side of his neck.

He should have declined, probably, but really, what would be the harm? He did need to get up the stairs, no matter how drunk, he refused to be found sleeping downstairs in the morning. They made it halfway up the stairs before Varvara’s hand dropped low enough to be openly groping, and by that point he was too focused on not falling to worry about it. Varvara started muttered something he was glad to not understand and pushed her face even closer, and he was sure he could feel her lips pressed to his skin, and along with that contact a sudden jolt of magic like aimless static lacking a forma. She giggled a little when he tightened his hold on her shoulders to stop her from toppling them over. He’d lost the count of steps twice by the time they reached the top and staggered into the wall.

“Oh, a door! Is this your room?” Varvara asked and dragged him further without waiting for an answer.

It was, of course, not his room.

The library was too much space for their lack of balance, and Thomas fell, in a strangely slow motion, in an armchair. Varvara, of course, landed mostly on top of him, and with surprising speed righted herself into sitting astride him. Her breasts were pushed against Thomas’ chest, legs and thighs warm and arranged in a very direct suggestion. Her face was blurry same as the room, but he could _feel_ her everywhere. 

“Varvara--” he started to object, maybe, but she slid her hand up the side of his chest and surely he wasn’t supposed to ignore all of it, so he kissed her, or tried. She had as much trouble with her aim, but Thomas put his hand on her face and moved her and soon enough their lips aligned correctly and--

It had been a very long time since he’d kissed anyone and he should try to remember this feeling, her mouth hot and dizzying. He'd half forgotten this, the feeling of another person so close and this very moment he couldn't believe he'd managed to go without for so long.

Of course that was the moment Varvara rocked her hips forward rather purposefully and Thomas’ hands landed on her hips and for a moment he thought he should try not to hold her so tightly he’d leave bruises, but she moved again and he lost that thought and pulled her closer. The next time she rocked forward, he thrust up and pulled her sharply forward and kept pushing and pulling her hips until she gave up trying to direct the movement, kiss forgotten in favor of just holding on to him and making soft noises into his shoulder.

The friction was maybe too much and he wasn’t sure he could come at all as inebriated as he was, but even through their clothes he could feel her heat against his cock. He kissed Varvara’s neck without any finesse and slid one of his hands up her thigh, under her skirt until his fingers found fabric and pressed underneath, and Varvara moaned much louder and tried to move, but lost her rhythm almost immediately and just ground against his hand.

“Just-- move,” she ordered, her voice faltering, and Thomas pushed two fingers inside her, pressed the heel of hand up and started to thrust his fingers shallowly, as fast as the awkward angle of his wrist allowed.

It didn’t take very long until Varvara’s breathy moans turned into sounds of frustration, and she clutched his arm and rode his hand with short fast jerks of her hips. He tried to kiss her neck again, but now that she was moving, he ended up just pressing his face to her breasts, the scent of spilled alcohol and skin overwhelming him, and feeling her move. With Varvara in charge her moans gained volume rapidly until a minute or two later she fell silent, shuddered above him. As Thomas withdrew his fingers and she sank down against him, suddenly pliant, he was very strongly reminded of his own state and felt some urgency that he hadn’t thought he could reach right then.

He took hold of her hips once again and thrust up, and once Varvara slid her hand into his hair and pulled, it took very little until he too reached a muted burst of pleasure and spilled into his pants. Even numbed by drink, he felt a wave of heat all over and the sudden pleasant looseness of muscles.

Varvara muttered something he was certain was an expletive and giggled into his shoulder. He was reminded they shouldn’t stay there, should definitely get up and find their rooms, but the warmth of Varvara’s body against his, the vodka and his very recent release all lulled him into sleep.

Thomas was woken up an indeterminable amount of time later by the sound of a door being slammed shut. For a moment he was disoriented, but the warm body above him, the lack of feeling in his legs and the uncomfortable wetness in his pants all dispelled the confusion fast. He felt an _entirely_ deserved headache approaching like a rain-cloud.

Varvara stirred, probably woken up by the same sound, and Thomas tried to gently disentangle himself from their embrace. He had no idea what time it was, but it felt like a few hours had passed.

“Mmm, where are you going?” she asked in a vaguely hoarse voice, yet sounding much too awake already.

“We shouldn’t be here. This is, in case you didn’t notice, not my room,” he said and only a second later realized he might have implied she should go to his room. He had no idea how to make it clear she shouldn’t, but they really definitely shouldn’t.

“Are you upset I didn’t blow anything last night?” she asked and with a slow slide of her hands down his chest said “because we have time, I still could.”

He desperately wanted a shower and some sleep in his own bed, and maybe a way to go back in time. And yet.

It took him some time to realize the sound that woke him up was the library door slamming shut, and he immediately decided to find some way to never look Molly in the eye again.

 

  


End file.
